


Precious Polaroid

by Ezabungles



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl has nightmares, Daryl treasures it cos he's had it bad for Rick for ages, Gives it to Daryl, Glenn takes a lovely polaroid of Rick and Daryl, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Rick doesn't know, The Governor's attacked the once and Woodbury residents live in the prison, oops had to change the rating to explicit cos solo-smut, set between season 3 and 4, somewhat canon divergent from early season 4 tho, sort of a slow burn, starts going into season 4, thoughts of self harm but not acted upon, tumblr prompt from BC to fuckyeahrickyl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3404873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezabungles/pseuds/Ezabungles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prison based. Daryl has had it bad for Rick for ages, doesn't quite know how long. He doesn't want to ruin their friendship which is so precious to him, so he never says anything about it, but it breaks him up inside. Rick's oblivious, and returns the feelings but doesn't know it. Yet. Glenn takes a happy snap of them with his polaroid, which Daryl treasures. Little did Daryl know that such a simple thing could be his undoing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happy Snap

**Author's Note:**

> This is from a tumblr prompt from a blog I follow, [Fuckyeahrickyl](http://fuckyeahrickyl.tumblr.com) on my [Rick RP Blog](http://officergorgeous.tumblr.com) and I just loved this so much I had to start writing it. The following is directly from the post, that was under the picture at the beginning of the chapter:  
> [[Prison set AU where Glenn still has his polaroid camera and decides to take pictures of the people in prison to give to them as a gift.  
> One day he sees Rick and Daryl chatting and they look so happy that he cant avoid snapping a pic,giving it to the hunter afterwards.  
> I want Daryl to carry the pic with him everywhere,want him to hide it of everyone ,i want Glenn to offhand ask what he did with the picture and want him to lie and say that he lost it.  
> I want the reason why he lied be because he’s afraid that keeping it it will somehow lead Rick to know about his feelings and i want Daryl to freak because he is terrified that he is gone lose the man’s friendship in case it happens.  
> I want a tense situation to happen and Rick to realise about Daryl’s feelings and at the same time see what himself was feeling but was in denial because of the situations.  
> I want Rickyl to eventually be together and want Rick to somehow discover the pic,want him to confront Daryl about it,want him to pick a pretty frame in the next supply run and proudly expose the picture in the cell that he now shares with the hunter.  
> -BC  
> Why do you do these things to me. omg. I need this one too.]]  
> I have not had a beta as I simply pushed this out a few hours after the initial prompt and had a mighty need to post.

[ ](http://fuckyeahrickyl.tumblr.com/post/111624695418/prison-set-au-where-glenn-still-has-his-polaroid)

Life at the prison felt safe, mostly. After the Governor’s failed attempt to take them out, and they had taken in a lot of the residents of Woodbury - all of the remaining ones that the ‘leader’ hadn’t killed - life settled into a steady routine of survival and companionship.

Daryl Dixon was a bringer, a provider, and a celebrity around the prison. Sometimes it made him uncomfortable, how people would fawn over him and congratulate him and thank him for his latest hunting win. Sometimes it cheered him up to have people consider him someone worthy, part of the group, a real asset. Even, part of a family.

What cheered him up the most, however, was spending time with Officer Friendly, leader-turned-farmer. Rick Grimes was like a rock, or an anchor, for the hunter. He didn’t have to say anything special, or do anything special. Just a simple approving nod, or a pat on the shoulder or arm, and Daryl felt better about most things.

Daryl couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when his brotherly affection for the cop had changed from something more than platonic, but it didn’t matter anyway. Rick was as straight as Daryl’s finely crafted crossbow bolts, and that was just fine – most of the time.

They had just grown close, taken comfort in each other when they’d lost the ones most precious to them, that was all. After Lori had died, Daryl had helped to bring Rick back from the brink of madness. It had hurt the hunter, to see the cop so out of it. It had scared him, if he was being honest with himself. Their fearless, stoic leader so lost and mad, spending hours killing walkers searching for.. something..

But Daryl, and Carl, and Li’l Asskicker had brought Rick back to life. It really warmed Daryl’s heart, seeing Rick cuddling with the baby everyone treasured so much. Judith was a sign of hope, for the group, despite the bloody, violent way she had come into their lives, ending Lori’s life, she was just that: life. She was new life.

And then Merle had happened. Merle had been with the Governor, at Woodbury. He had kidnapped Maggie and Glenn, even torturing the Korean, and allowing Maggie into the cold unwelcome touches of the Governor. It had broken Daryl’s heart to see his brother, his kin, his only remaining blood family, so twisted and lost. And then he was lost for real. Turned, after turning around and letting Michonne go from the hostage deal Rick hadn’t been willing enough to do himself. Daryl had been the one to take him out. He had been lost for a while, too. And Rick had brought him back.

Thankfully, their thoughts were not on such morbid times, when Rick had sought out Daryl simply for some company, one sunny afternoon. One of the older women from Woodbury had convinced some of the kids to group together and plan to put on a play. It was so crazy, so surreal, the thought of kids performing some old story like they were back in school, before the world had turned to shit.

“Carl ever perform in a play in school?” Daryl asked Rick.

They were sitting side by side, on a raised walkway outside, leaning through the bars with their feet over the edge like they were school kids. The hunter both loved and hated moments like these. He felt the deep yearning deep inside of him to scoot over just a little bit closer, just a few inches, just enough so their knees would bump or something, some contact. But then the thought would come biting into his mind, of Rick seeing through it, being disgusted with Daryl’s intentions, and leaving. Daryl wanted more, _needed_ more, but he wasn’t willing to bet their friendship on it. Rick was everything to him, he needed the other man like he needed his crossbow, like he needed to hunt to take the edge off, like he needed to breathe. Friends is enough, he told himself. And he hoped he wouldn’t go mad from telling himself that over and over again, every time those urges came snaking to the surface of his mind, telling him to _just go for it_.

So he repressed the urges, the needs, and just continued to be Rick’s friend. Rick’s right hand man, and even best friend, he hoped. The cop had even told Daryl one day that he considered the hunter his brother. It both hurt and elated him. Brother was close, but it felt like a gentle way to reinforce the platonic nature of their relationship.

“A couple of times, yeah,” Rick answered, pulling Daryl back into the present. The cop gazed at him, eyes full of mirth and mischief, and it made Daryl’s heart flutter. He tried his best not give away any change of expression. “There was this one time, the parents were asked to be a part of it. I don’t even remember what it was, but there was me and Carl up on stage, both with fake beards reciting some terrible lines.”

Rick laughed, open and care free, and it was such an amazing sound that Daryl had to join in. They both enjoyed the calm, amusing atmosphere for a moment, and then Daryl had the craziest urge that was so hard to suppress.

“Well ye’ve got such an impressive beard now ya wouldn’ need one o’ them fakes.” He reached out, as if to brush his fingers through Rick’s beard, but he managed to cut off the motion just in time and curl his fingers around the bar in front of him.

If Rick noticed the half motion, he didn’t acknowledge it. That was for the best.

“Yeah, I could play Abe Lincoln these days.” Rick brushed his own fingers through his beard for a moment, and Daryl’s heart ached, but then Rick was laughing again, and Daryl couldn’t help but laugh himself.

A bright flash caught their attention sharply, and they reacted instantly, as if it was from the shot of a gun in their faces, but the noise accompanying it didn’t sound like any weapon they knew. Rick reached for the Colt Python on his hip, and Daryl unsheathed his hunting knife – his crossbow was back in his cell.

In no more than a second, however, they realised it was just Glenn, taking a damn photo of them.

“Woah woah!” Glenn raised his free hand defensibly; his other was busy holding the polaroid camera he’d just used. “All good guys, just me!” He looked worried as hell, and as Rick and Daryl had been ready to take out the threat so quickly, it was no wonder.

“What ye doin’ there, Glenn? Get that damn thing outta ma face!” Daryl growled at the Korean who grimaced sheepishly. Rick just looked on in wonder at the exchange.

“Sorry – sorry! You two just looked like you were having fun, I couldn’t help it.” Glenn took off quickly, before he could receive anything worse than a chastising from the hunter.

“Damn nuisance,” Daryl scowled, but the gentle touch on his shoulder from Rick’s hand had him jerk in response, and then the touch was gone and he cussed internally from the unconscious motion.

“Aw, come on Daryl. Lighten up. He’s just having some fun, making some memories.”

Daryl glanced up to appraise Rick’s expression, and found it to be calm and collected. He hated how quickly he’d lashed out at the photo being taken, and the way he’d jerked under Rick’s touch. It had only surprised him, and if it was one thing he didn’t like, it was surprise touches. He wished he hadn't shaken off Rick’s hand though, he enjoyed contact with the cop more than he’d ever let on. Best not to dwell on it, Daryl thought.

Though Rick seemed okay, Daryl felt he’d ruined the moment, and so he pulled his legs out of between the bars, and got to his feet, dusting off his hands. He muttered something about going on a hunt, and Rick nodded, looking kind of stunned but not fighting Daryl’s sudden departure. It shamed Daryl that Rick was so used to dealing with him in that way, so used to just letting Daryl deal with shit in the way he needed without question.

It made him feel like he was a child who didn’t know how to deal with his emotions. They always either stayed buried deep inside, or exploded from him in a violent display. He hated when Rick got caught in the crossfire, which unfortunately was sometimes wont to happen.

He stalked back into the cell block, brushing past someone in one of the doorways, not noticing or caring who it was. He made it back to his cell, and seriously considered just flopping down on the cot with the too-thin mattress to sulk. But he’d told Rick he was going on a hunt, so he gathered up his crossbow, checking over the bolts for imperfections. He was packing a bag with water and rations, in case he found some big game and needed to stay out for a few days, when he heard a soft tap on the cell door beyond his curtain.

“Daryl?” came Glenn’s timid voice; he was clearly still worried he’d pissed Daryl off.

“What?” Daryl answered, more gruffly than he’d meant to, and he sighed. The Korean was still no more than a silhouette through the curtain, so Daryl tried again, softer than the last attempt. “What is it, Glenn?”

Glenn pushed aside the curtain, taking in Daryl clearly preparing for a hunt.

“Er, sorry for interrupting.” Glenn started sheepishly, and Daryl nodded nonchalantly. Spurred on, Glenn continued. “Thought you might like this…”

And he pulled from his pocket a card, handing it to Daryl, who took it curiously, shuffling his crossbow over his shoulder so he had a free hand, the other still holding his makeshift quiver. Glenn nodded and quickly turned to escape.

Of course, it was the polaroid, Daryl and Rick laughing, carefree, and Daryl’s eyes clearly on Rick. It nearly made him choke. Thankfully, he managed to suppress that reaction.

“Wait-“ Daryl called, and Glenn turned, looking like he might be chastised again. “Thanks.” Daryl said softly.

“No problem, man.” Glenn smiled a bit, cheered up slightly, and he turned and left.

With his privacy returned once more, Daryl propped his quiver against the pole of the cot, and slumped down on it. He gazed at the picture in longing, his throat all caught up with emotion.

He’d never had a picture of someone he cared for before. He thought of happy families with portraits, each family member all scrubbed up and smiling. Daryl thought of the old photo Rick had of himself and Lori and Carl. He thought of his family, and how his daddy hadn’t ‘believed’ in family photos or sentimental bullshit like that, not that Daryl would have treasured such a thing anyway.

And so he just looked at the picture for a while, and couldn’t help but run his calloused fingers over Rick’s smiling face, imagining that he was running them through that beard he liked so much.

When he was done feeling like a sad sap, he tucked the photo into the inner pocket of his vest, and picked up his hunting gear. Crossbow and quiver over his shoulder on top of his bag, he set out through the prison, even nodded and managed a smile at Carol as she brushed his shoulder with her hand.

He liked the woman’s company. It wasn’t like Rick’s, like he needed it to survive, but she was the closest thing to a best friend he’d ever had. A best friend he didn’t want to touch and madly kiss, that is.

“Come back safe, Pookie.” Carol said with a smirk, and he shook his head at the damn nickname. He didn’t even remember when she’d started calling him that, but he barely ever heard ‘Daryl’ from the woman anymore.

Heading through the fence tunnel, he nodded at Maggie at one of the gates, who nodded back. On through he went, unable to help glancing over at the farm, and sure enough, there he was. Rick and Carl were attending to the crops, Carl wearing Rick’s old hat, looking intently at his dad.

As Carl glanced over at Daryl, Rick followed his gaze and saw the hunter heading down to the hole in the fence. Daryl could see Rick shield his eyes from the sun with his hand like a visor; saw the nearly imperceptible nod he gave. Daryl returned the nod, and slipped through the hole, chaining it back up behind him.

Before long, the hunter was back in his element, his comfort zone. The forest always felt more like home than most places he’d ever stayed. The prison felt like home, but that was only because of the company. Carol, Michonne, Sasha, Tyreese, Beth, Maggie, Glenn, Carl, Li’l Asskicker… Rick…

Daryl easily took out the odd walker shuffling about with his crossbow, retrieving the precious bolts from their skulls. He nailed a few squirrels here and there, and was going for a few hours, before he caught the tracks of something much better amongst the leaves and sticks on the forest floor.

A buck, he suspected; a big one. The tracks were relatively fresh, and he followed them for a few more hours, collecting a few more squirrels, until the sun began to set. He wouldn’t do much good in the dark, so huffing about possibly losing the game while taking a break, he scaled a sturdy looking tree.

He looped a few yards of rope around the tree to hold him on, not like he thought he’d need it; when he was hunting, some higher carnal instinct had him sleeping as still as the branch he was attached to. When he was tightly secured, his bag and crossbow hanging from a close by branch, he took a moment to relax.

Chewing on some jerky they’d made especially for hunts and supply runs, Daryl finally pulled out the photo from his vest pocket. He spent a long while just gazing at the picture, at his and Rick’s faces, beaming as they laughed. The sunlight glinted off Rick’s sweaty curls, and illuminated the grey in his beard. Daryl only thought it made him look even more alluring.

After a while, the sun had set, and Daryl didn’t want to waste his torch batteries, just in case he got stuck somewhere. So he put the photo back in his vest pocket, right next to his heart where it belonged. He pulled on the ropes tying him to the tree to test them, rested his head back against the bark, shifting until he was more comfortable, and fell asleep almost instantly.


	2. Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl has a successful hunt. Brings back a monstrosity of a kill. Everyone's really happy and proud, especially Rick. A few playful teasing moments before and after Daryl guts and prepares the game. Daryl has a shower and er.. works off some tension. Unfortunately much shame and embarrassment. Also Daryl flinches a lot. Probably too much, sorry. I just headcanon him as being very jumpy and conflicted and confused by affection at this point in canon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some solo smut managed to work its way in, much earlier than I intended. Enjoy! o/

Daryl woke with the sun, well used to the hunt, and being in nature. He took a moment to rehydrate, and then climbed down from the tree. He searched for the tracks he’d found the previous day quickly finding them again. Chewing on some more jerky, he took off in search of the buck.

After a few hours, he came across the creature drinking from a stream. It took a few bolts and a bit of chasing, but he took the thing down. It was huge. He had to cut off the head just to be able to carry the damn thing. He hauled it back to the prison, making it back a few hours before sunset. It had been slow going; he’d had to stop a few times, and lay down the headless kill to take out the odd walker. Add carrying probably just over 300 pounds of game, and he’d been bored out of his brain, walking the hours back to the prison.

As he stumbled through the tree line, he saw that Rick and Carl were at it again, at the farm. Rick noticed Daryl first, as though some sixth sense was informing him the hunter was near. He tapped Carl on the shoulder, a grin upon his face that made Daryl’s heart melt. The grin was for him – or more, the carcass over his shoulder, but it still elated Daryl. He grunted with the efforts of his haul, and glanced from side to side, checking how many walkers were about – there weren’t many – before calling out.

“Oi Grimes! Gimme a hand with this sumbitch, will ya?”

Rick dropped his chin and laughed in that way he did when Daryl acted the way _he_ did. The farmer dropped his bucket of fertiliser, and headed around to the gates; the hole in the fence was too small for Daryl and the buck to get through, and it would be hell to drag the thing through, dead weight and all.

While Carl hauled bodily on the rope to open the gates, Rick jogged through to Daryl.

“Yeah, it’s all good, jus’ take yer time, Officer Farmer.” Daryl teased, and Rick laughed again.

Rick seemed glad that Daryl was in a better mood than the last time they’d seen each other. Daryl assumed that the other thought it was from the hunt, and it was. That, and seeing Rick smiling at him that way, like he was useful, like he was valued. Rick often told him he was, and more, but it was nice – and maybe a little strange – to see the unabated gratitude and appreciation all the same.

“Alright, alright, I’m here you damn redneck.” Rick met Daryl’s teasing nickname with his own jibe. It was friendly, playful.

Together, they hauled the headless buck through the gates, as Carl took out the two walkers who had shambled over, eager for the smell of fresh meat and blood.

Kid’s getting good, Daryl thought. He actually swelled with pride, seeing Carl swing the machete clean through the skulls of the undead with a surprising amount of skill. It wasn’t weird, was it, that he was proud of a kid who wasn’t his? He thought it probably was, but he was proud of Carl all the same.

“Everyone all good?” Daryl asked Rick as they two-manned the carrying efforts up to the main prison area.

It was the routine; checking to make sure there hadn’t been any incidents while one had been away from the group. There was always an instant of worry, and fear, before the question was answered. Daryl knew by this point he’d mostly be able to tell if something had happened. He had long ago learned how to check for that subdued look on Rick’s face, that hint of expression that silently said ‘yes, something happened. We lost someone.’

Thankfully today, Rick wore no such expression.

“Everything’s just fine.” Rick answered Daryl, a calm smile on his face. Carl followed a ways behind the two men after closing the gates.

“Tha’s good.” And it was.

Daryl had become very attached to everyone in the group. He knew he was a fool for doing so. How long could the peace possibly last? It had been a while since they’d lost someone, the last one being Merle. Surely their luck was due to run out soon.

He didn’t like to think of life like that, just counting the days until their next loss, but that was the way it was these days. It was like the world was daring them to become complacent and calm, until it ripped another loved one from their lives. They knew it would happen sooner or later. They’d lose someone again. Daryl just hoped, and actually prayed sometimes – for the first time in his life – that he’d never lose Rick, or Carl, or Li’l Asskicker.

There were many others in the group whose loss would break him: Carol was his best friend; he’d slipped into an easy friendship and even partnership with Michonne; Beth he considered the little sister he’d never had; and Glenn and Maggie were like a beacon for hope and love in the new world. Everyone in the group he’d formed a bond with, and it would hurt if he lost them. But Rick... If he lost Rick, he thought he would never recover from that.

When they got to the end of the walk, there were a few people gathered in the yard. Cheers erupted from the group, and Daryl furiously blushed.

He and Rick set down the buck – finally – and Daryl stretched, his spine popping a little at being allowed to straighten for the first time in hours.

“Back alright, old man?” Rick teased.

“Screw you, old git.” Daryl retorted, equally playful.

Carol came over and gave Daryl a quick hug, just wrapping one arm around his waist, and kissed him on the cheek. He grimaced at the gesture, but she ignored it.

“I’m glad you’re back safe, Pookie,” she said, gazing at him with fondness and relief deeply etched into the lines on her face. “Nice work out there.”

She waved her hand to the buck with her other hand as she released him, and his gaze followed her direction. Some people were gathering around the carcass, staring like they’d never seen such a thing up close – and in fact, a few of them hadn’t. It had been Daryl’s first really good haul in a while.

Daryl glanced over at Rick, and thought he saw the ghost of – something – flicker across the man’s eyes, bright blues on Carol’s back. He didn’t know what it was, something he didn’t think he’d seen before in Rick’s eyes. He did his best to shrug it off, because Beth had just come out of the cell block with Judith on her hip.

A smile plastered itself onto Daryl’s face as he loped over to scoop the baby from the blonde’s arms. Judith mirrored his smile and promptly stuffed one fist into her mouth, drooling on it, and clutched at Daryl’s vest with the other.

“Hey there, Li’l Asskicker,” Daryl cooed, kissing the top of her head and earning himself a muffled giggle from the baby. “How ya doin’, girlie?”

“I just finished feedin’ her,” Beth informed him, the towel over her shoulder evidence of burping time. “Watch she don’t throw up on ya.”

“I’ll be careful.” Daryl chuckled. He nuzzled Judith’s cheek with his nose, copping a drool-covered hand cupping his face. “Ya wouldn’ do that to me, would ya darlin’?”

A soft chuckle off to his right informed him Rick was watching. He looked up and caught the other man’s eyes. There was a warm appreciation to them, like he loved what he was seeing.

Grinning sheepishly, Daryl nodded his acknowledgement. Before he knew it, Rick was sauntering over, that _look_ all over his face, fierce blues flashing with that indescribable appreciation and affection. He cupped Judith’s head and kissed the light fuzz of brown hair. If anyone still doubted that Judith was Rick’s, Daryl didn’t know how. The bright, soul-crushing blue eyes, the brown hair that had even started to curl up at the end. She was definitely Rick’s. The shape of her eyes, however... They were entirely Lori, and looking into those tilted blues always elicited a tiny pang of pain for the loss

As Rick gazed at Daryl, his eyes full of admiration and even a hint of adoration, though Daryl thought he might have been getting his hopes up about that last, Judith interrupted them with a loud gurgling sound.

Both Rick and Daryl reacted instantly – they thought she might be choking. As Daryl shifted his arms to allow Judith to sit up further to unblock her airway, Rick reached out to do the same, and he ended up placing his hand over Daryl’s on her back.

If it wasn’t for Judith in his arms, Daryl would have flinched away from the touch – he hadn’t been prepared for it. But as Judith was there, he did his best to resist the action. As it was, Rick was the one who flinched away, as if his hand was burned.

It was like he knew Daryl would have moved if it were possible, so Rick did it for him. Once again, Daryl was ashamed at how used to dealing with his shit Rick was. Before Daryl had any more time to consider it, he returned his attention to Judith, who was not choking, and happily mumbling and drooling away at the cuddles she was getting.

Sighing with relief, Daryl jostled her a bit in his arms, and tickled her tummy. She giggled, her arms flailing a little, managing to punch Daryl in the chest, light as a feather. She was okay – that was what mattered.

Rick was watching again, and it was with a grunt that Daryl held Judith out in his arms for the other man to take.

“Gotta prep the buck...” Daryl mumbled, as Rick took Judith into his arms. Rick nodded as he pulled Judith close to his body, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head.

“Maybe you can use some help. I hear Patrick’d be honoured to work with you.” Rick chuckled.

Daryl responded with a noncommittal grunt and stalked off to the buck, leaving Rick to turn and look after him.

He did end up getting Patrick’s help, though he didn’t know if help would be the word he’d use. The kid did more wincing and vomiting than actual helping as Daryl was elbow deep in buck blood and guts, and Daryl ended up sending him away, staring incredulously as the boy finally left. Patrick had been reluctant to leave, honoured indeed to be working in such close proximity, so Daryl had had to tell him he was going to spoil the food if he couldn’t turn away in time the next time he vomited, and that had been it.

By the time Daryl was done, there was a huge pile of meat sitting on the mat that had been laid out for him. He’d managed to salvage a lot of the hide, too. They could use it for bits and bobs around the prison. Would’ve been cool to bring back the head though, he thought. Unfortunately by now it was likely barely bones, surely the meal of whatever walkers had found it. He left the meat for the cooks to come and collect, knowing they’d be happy to inspect the takings.

He was absolutely wrecked, as he headed over to the wash station in the outer area. Two days of hunting; he could survive, sure, but it took a hell of a lot out of him. Then the dragging of the buck for miles back to the prison. He was ready for bed.

Halfway through washing, his face was quite sopping with water when Rick found him. Thankfully, he’d scrubbed off most of the blood up to his elbows by then, only a few smudges of crimson remaining.

“Could do with a pat under the armpits too, I could smell you from miles away.”

“Screw you, Grimes.”

Rick chuckled.

“Actually, you should probably just give up and go take a shower, to be honest. You’re disgusting.”

“Oh yeah? Disgustin’, ‘m I?” Daryl flicked his wet hands at Rick, spraying the man with bloody water.

Rick gasped, and glanced down at his blood-splattered shirt.

“Damn redneck, this was clean!” But he cracked into a bemused grin, and Daryl laughed at him.

“Alrigh’, I’ll go have a shower...” Daryl pouted and turned toward the cellblock.

Rick looked incredulously after him like he was a child, and perhaps he was.

Daryl loped into the block, catching a few more ‘ _thanks, Daryl!_ ’, and ‘ _nice work, Dixon!_ ’ and pats on the back as he approached his cell. Thankfully, the pats were few, so he only flinched a couple of times.

Collecting a change of clothes, he ducked through the hallways to the showers. Ensuring he had a towel ready, he was thankful he was alone. He loved his group – his _family_ , even – but it was nice to be alone again. Sometimes it just got too crowded out there.

He thought it over for a second, then flipped the lock on the bathing area door. He thought after everyone’s gratefulness, they could begrudge him the privacy. He did it whenever possible, sometimes even preferring to bathe out in the woods, rather than in the prison. Some people had joked with him that he didn’t have anything they hadn’t seen before. How wrong they were.

Kicking off his shoes into the corner, he peeled off his socks and left them next to the boots. His belt went on top of the shoes, cargo pants in a heap – he wasn’t wearing underwear. He had never come off the fence between boxers or briefs, and given the lack of choice in one’s own size, he often just went commando.

Shrugging out of his vest, he pulled out the precious polaroid from the inner pocket. He spared a moment to gaze at Rick’s smiling face, and especially his eyes, before propping it carefully on top of his boots. He felt weird staring at the man’s face without pants on.

He pumped the water, and it started in a steady spray. He had a few seconds before it wasn’t ice-cold, so he left taking off his singlet for the last moment. Alone or no, he didn’t like to be shirtless. Back all disfigured and scarred from his father’s drunken rages, not many people had seen them.

Flicking the bloody, stained piece of clothing over to the pile of other gross garments, he stepped under the water. It wasn’t perfect; it was very hard to get perfect temperature with how they’d rigged up the water to just not be freezing.

He dipped his head, letting the stream wash over his gritty hair, rubbing his fingers through it to pull out the dirt that had somehow managed to cake itself in there, despite the fact he’d spent no time laying on the ground.

Reaching for the bar of soap hanging nearby, he lathered it up and started washing himself. He had to admit, it felt good to be getting clean again. He really had been disgusting. Rick’s laughing face burst into his mind at that thought, from the earlier jibe, and the treasured photo.

His train of thought rushed on unaided, thinking of the other day when he’d wanted to brush his fingers through Rick’s beard, hands mindlessly lathering up his body. Before long, he was hard as a rock.

Thank fuck he’d locked he door, he thought as he blushed when he realised his shame, despite the fact that he was quite alone. Still, his eyes darted around, sure someone would walk in on him from some corner where they’d been watching. Subconsciously, he kept his back against the wall, despite the fact that it was his front that would likely be the _bigger_ problem right now.

When his anxiety had settled down, he did his best to ignore his problem, continuing to wash himself. Despite his intentions, before long he was lazily stroking himself, calloused fingers gripping his hard shaft.

He gasped at the attention; it wasn’t something he often did. He’d never been an overly sexual person, never had much – if any – experience, but something had his blood boiling to the point of furious arousal.

He thought he could probably pinpoint what it was, Rick’s gaze imprinted on the inside of his eyelids as he let his head drop back. The water rushed over his shoulders and down his disfigured back as he stroked and stroked.

From base to tip, then back down, using the foam and his foreskin to reduce the friction from the motion, he moaned softly, then scolded himself. He may be alone, but damn did sound carry in the showers; the accoustics were amazing.

He started leaking, and he thumbed the slit, spreading the pearls down his member as it throbbed under his ministrations. Lost in the moment, his hips started rocking, thrusting harder into his hand.

His imagination wandered, and for just a second, he could almost feel Rick’s arms wrapping around him as the cop pressed his body up against Daryl’s. Soft lips would press against the back of his neck, and under his ear, as strong hands caressed down his arms, reached around and covered his own hand on his manhood. And with that image, he came to climax, spurting come against the wall of the shower.

He rode the bliss for a while, carefully caressing his sensitive, softening dick, until the fantasy faded, and he was alone in the showers once more.

The hot water had run out – he hadn’t noticed earlier – and he was suddenly shivering all over, from both the change in temperature, and the seemingly abrupt physical loneliness.

Shaking his head and muttering to himself in nonsense, he quickly rinsed himself off. He was furiously ashamed. He hadn’t done that since.. well, since before the turn, if he was honest with himself. He had never really been one for getting hot and heavy and worked up like that. Mostly took the edge off with hunting and killing walkers.

After he quickly toweled himself mostly dry, only his hair dripping down his neck – and cleaned his _mess_ off the shower wall – he pulled on the clean singlet and sweats he’d brought, the cotton a bit tingly on his sensitive lower half. He slid the photo, at which he was now mildly embarrassed to look, into his back pocket, and bundled up his dirty clothes, dumping them in the communal laundry hamper outside the showers, on his way back to the cellblock.

Thankfully, he was met with no one until he got to just outside his cell. And of course, the one person to find him was Rick.

“You turning in?” Rick asked.

“Yeah.. Tired as fuck...” Daryl couldn’t meet Rick’s gaze. He could feel the red he was sure was heating up his cheeks, being in proxomity with the guy he had just jerked off to. Rick noticed his discomfort, if not the reason.

“Daryl, you alright?” Rick asked with such gentleness, such tenderness, that Daryl flinched as if he had been struck.

“I said ‘m tired, Rick. Let me sleep.” Daryl bit out the words.

“Alright...” Rick began cautiously, scrutinising Daryl, though as the redneck’s gaze was flickering intently from his bare feet to the muddy shoes in his hand, he couldn’t see it.

“Well, have a good rest then,” Rick conceded, reaching out to pat Daryl on the shoulder.

Daryl jerked away, avoiding the touch as if it was the grasping fingers of a walker hand, and not Rick. He huffed and turned to his cell, slouching through the curtain and pulling it across behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rick’s form as a silhouette through the mock privacy barrier.

“Well, thanks again for the buck, Daryl. Everyone’s real grateful.” And he sighed and walked away.

After plopping his boots inside the cell, Daryl paced a bit, and ran a hand through his damp hair, a gesture he’d managed to adopt from seeing Rick do it so much. Fuck.

He’d been a jerk to Rick. More of a fuckwit, really. It was better though, than to slip up and make the wrong expression though, wasn’t it? Better to make the man a bit pissed off with him, rather than ruin their friendship entirely with the wrong gesture, or word, or glance?

He didn’t know. Hell, he didn’t know any of this shit. All he knew was that if something happened to the bond he shared with Rick, he’d crumble inside.

He had to rein in his urges. He had to be more in control. Shit, he’d actually masturbated thinking about the guy. That was messed up, wasn’t it? But it had felt so good...

Groaning, he slumped on his cot, leaning his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. He gave up trying to think his shit through. He was done. He’d just do his best to behave, continue to be an apparently very valuable member of the group, and it would all be fine. And when it came to impure thoughts about Rick, well, maybe he could just go on a hunt and take care of it, if it happened again. He sure as hell thought he’d feel less guilty about his actions if they weren’t in the group’s home. _If_ it happened again, that was.

He lay back on the cot, and rolled onto his side, facing the wall. Almost subconsciously, he pulled the photo out of his back pocket. There was still just enough light coming from his window to see. The orange glow of the setting sun cast a magical haze over the image, illuminating his and Rick’s faces.

They each had their hands to themselves, well in sight, but if he squinted, he could amost imagine that their knees were touching. Almost.

He sighed. He had it bad. He was in love with Rick, that much was obvious to him now. He couldn’t stop thinking about the man who was so kind, so loving, so fiercely loyal. And so straight and uninterested.

With a hint of sadness, he tucked the photo under his pillow, and curled up into himself. Non-threatening, a small target, that was the way he slept. He drifted off into an uneasy sleep, Rick still heavily weighing on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to acknowledge Daryl's emotional and physical scars a bit, because it's something that makes me sad whenever it's glossed over in other fics.  
> Thank you for reading! I'm super psyched for this cos it's gonna be a waaay faster burn than my other Rickyl fic, but I promise I'm not abandoning You Grew On Me. Any errors are my own as I haven't had a beta, feel free to let me know in the comments. Feel free to leave some love and (constructive) critique in the comments. Or even prompts or little headcanons or little 'it would be cool if this happened's, and they might be added in!  
> Also anyone who's read my other Rickyl can probably attest to the fact that I apparently really like to write people gazing affectionately at photos of their loved ones. Maybe this prompt was made for me heh.  
> Edit: Um. Did no one like the Daryl solo tlc? Maybe it's just different fandom, but I'm used to many comments about hot thangs and awkward lady/public boners... Not feeling very confident with smut on this right now...


	3. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl has a nightmare, one he's had recurring for years. Switch to Rick's POV when he hears Daryl, and runs to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nightmare is in italics, so if you're triggered by child abuse, skip past the last italicised paragraphs - it is indented. There is reference to past abuse in the rest of the nightmare, but it's not 'current' as far as is Daryl's perception. Short chapter, sorry.

Whether it was the anxiety he’d felt about Rick, or the hunt reminding him of the days he’d needed to do that to survive even before the turn, or perhaps a combination of the two, Daryl didn’t know. He never knew what brought on the nightmares.

_He snuck into the house, quiet as he could manage. His father was passed out on the couch, but the burning in the overflowing ashtray meant the man hadn’t been out long. Tiptoeing through the hallway to the bathroom, Daryl pulled out the first aid kit._ _Reaching up into the cabinet pulled on the wound on his side. He winced, and then smacked his hand over his mouth, eyes darting around in fear, waiting for the thundering stomps of the man coming to punish him for God knows what this time._ _Thankfully, no such sound came from the lounge room. Daryl attended his wound, washing it with antiseptic, trying his best to stem the winces that issued from between gritted teeth. He was sure he’d let one or two free, but he sure as hell hoped not._

_He stitched himself up; he feared going to a hospital more than he feared infection. If he ever ended up in one, they’d see not only the terrible wounds inflicted from hunting, but the scars and bruises of various age, evidence of abuse. Sure, he’d probably be taken away from his father, but the man would find him. The man always found him._

_He was still getting accustomed to hunting without Merle. His older brother had up and left about a year ago, leaving Daryl to his father’s rages. It had only been a few nights without Merle that his father had turned on Daryl, seeming pissed off that his preferred punching bag had left._ _Daryl was good at hunting, very good for a sixteen year old, but sometimes he still forgot that his brother wasn’t there to have his back. He’d found a boar, a decent sized one; he’d thought he could eat for weeks off the meat. He’d just taken it out with his crossbow, when another one came at him from behind. It had gored him good on the flank, before he’d managed to drive his huge hunting knife into its skull._

_He froze, and he thought he did it a second before he heard it – the creaking of the old moth-eaten sofa, indicating his father was moving. Heart thumping in his chest, he listened, poised to run, though there was nowhere to run even if he had the time. He was trapped._

_“Boy where are you?!” Came his father’s angry voice from down the hall, followed by the stomping of the man stalking toward him._

_The bathroom door swung open before Daryl had the chance to process, to do anything. He could smell the cheap whiskey on his father’s breath from six feet away. The air in the tiny enclosed area reeked of cigarettes, so bad that Daryl's eyes stung._

_“What the fuck are ya—“ his father growled. “Ye’ve got blood everywhere, ya fuckin’ useless little shit!”_

_Daryl glanced down, his blood freezing in his veins. There was a trail of crimson leading from the hallway to where he stood. He hadn’t noticed the huge gash on his leg from when he’d fallen, fighting the boar. He'd been much too preoccupied with the giant gash in his side below his ribs._

_Out of nowhere came a fist that collided with his head, snapping his jaw to the side. He saw stars as his head smashed into the cabinet, and his face and neck were soaked with blood. He raised a hand in a daze, feeling his jaw jutting out oddly, and t_ _he glass that now pierced the side of his face. A_ _big strong hand wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air, and he heard the dreaded sound: the clanking of the man unbuckling his belt._

 

*****

 

Apart from Daryl sleeping, Rick was alone in the cell block with Judith. He had her cradled to his chest; she’d just fallen asleep. Then he heard it – the wails of fear echoing through the cell block.

Fear flooded through him. Had a walker got in? He quickly and carefully placed Judith down in her crib in his cell, and stepped out, jimmy-rig locking the cell behind him; if he was flanked, she would be safe in there until he could get back to her.

Pulling his Python out of the holster with one hand, the other unsheathing his knife, he swept through the near dark, following the sounds. There were no walkers in the immediate vicinity, but the sounds of fear and struggle pierced through the block, and his head. It was coming from Daryl’s cell.

Rick’s heart tightened in his chest. Gun and knife at the ready, he swept through to Daryl’s cell, pulling back the curtain, expecting to see the hunter fighting off a walker. But he wasn’t. He was fighting with the blanket twisting around him, almost suffocating him, as if he was being attacked, moaning and whimpering in agony.

Rushing to Daryl’s side, Rick put the knife and the gun, after he flicked the safety back on, on the small table in the cell. He dropped to Daryl’s bedside, unsure of what to do.

There was a thick sheen of sweat all over the hunter, who was facing the wall, curled into himself so much he was almost contorted. He was shaking and twisting, and as Rick watched, the blanket was so strained as it was wrapped around him that it seemed almost ready to tear.

“ _No... No! Stop!_ ” The sound of Daryl’s voice sliced through Rick’s heart, so weak and scared and small.

Hesitantly, Rick reached out, gently placing his hand on Daryl’s shoulder. Daryl abruptly twisted around, and Rick caught a glance of the hunter’s face twisted in horror, before the fist collided with his shoulder.

Pain lanced through his arm, which jerked back in response. He winced in agony, but as he watched, Daryl flailed at him, trying to wail on him with fists and elbows. He caught Daryl’s fists in his hands gently, just to stop the hits. The hunter’s eyes were wide open, wild with fear; he was still in the illusion.

“Daryl, stop... Daryl, you’re safe...” Rick’s voice was as low and soothing as he could manage, cracking a bit with his distress and the pain in his shoulder.

“ _Fuck off!_ ” Daryl shouted, trying to get at Rick, and then— “ _... help..._ ” The plea was so desperate, so earnest and seeking and quiet, that Rick couldn’t help but lean over, wrapping his arms around Daryl, pulling the man close to his body.

“It’s okay, Daryl... It’s okay... You're safe...” Rick rubbed Daryl’s back, catching a few more punches in his sides, before Daryl’s body abruptly jerked in his arms. "It's me, Rick..." The punching slowed, and Rick rested his chin lightly on the top of Daryl’s head, his fingers tracing little circles on the other’s back. He heard the occasional soft whimper and sob, Daryl’s shoulders shaking with the effort.

“... Rick...?” Daryl’s voice was muffled by his face being pressed into Rick’s chest, and so weak and full of fear, it scared Rick himself. Hearing the hunter so lost and broken shook him to his core. Daryl hadn’t shown this kind of weakness and vulnerability since he lost Merle.

“Yeah, it’s me, Daryl... It’s okay...” Rick held Daryl close to him, against his body, breathing deeply and slowly, urging the hunter to match his pace.

Daryl seemed to be calming down slowly, breathing closer to matching Rick’s, and his hands clutched at Rick’s sides, fingers digging deep into the flesh of his back painfully. After a while, and Rick didn’t know how long, Daryl finally stilled in his arms, no longer sobbing. The hunter was just – still. Rick went to pull back, wanting to see Daryl’s face and see that it had calmed, but Daryl clutched at him more tightly, holding him still.

“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere,” Rick cooed, using the same soft tone he used to use when Carl was a little kid waking up from a night terror.

Daryl mumbled something that Rick couldn’t quite decipher, but the tone was grateful, and a little ashamed. It broke Rick’s heart. Just how many times had this happened? Just how many times had Daryl not had anyone there for him? It seemed so traumatic that Rick was sure it had happened before. He thought he’d leave it until later to ask though, much later.

After what could have been minutes or much, much longer, Rick felt Daryl slump against him slowly. He was relieved; he thought the worst had passed. Daryl hadn’t sobbed or whimpered for a while, still clutching at his sides like he was a lifeline, and maybe he was.

Rick could feel Daryl’s hot, steady breath on his chest. Daryl seemed to almost nuzzle against him, and he rested his cheek on top of the other’s head, nestled in the bird’s nest of brown shaggy hair. An instant later, Daryl flinched next to him, jerked out of his grasp and pushed him away. He fell back.

“Daryl?” Rick asked from where he’d landed on his ass, but Daryl was already up and moving out of the cell, hiding his face. Rick thought he heard the hunter mumble something about ‘ _the bathroom_ ’, and then Daryl was gone, the curtain flicking back into place behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to touch on my headcanon of Daryl having nightmares. I figure he doesn't have many any more, none anywhere near as serious as this one anyway, otherwise others in the group would've noticed and that kind of ruins the headcanon orz. But with his growing anxiety about his affection for Rick, and the fear that he's soon going to mess up and push Rick away, he's scared he's going to be ostracized and rejected from the group as a freak. The thought of being alone again has his past demons sneaking to the surface.  
> As always, critique and comments and ideas and prompts and 'it would be cool if's are very welcome! Thank you for reading and following this fic! Or welcome, if you've just started!


	4. That which glows, must surely someday fade.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl reacts to Rick's comfort. Goes for a wander and we see another familiar face. Carol is lovely and comforting and supportive too. Daryl wonders for a moment, what life would be like should it be Carol for whom he longed instead. Then a moment of horror as he thinks he's lost the picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The latest ep gave me a mighty need to update. There is a moment of thought about self-harm. The paragraph is indented, so if you're triggered skip past it. You won't be losing any plot.

Daryl left Rick alone in his cell, stalking swiftly through the cell block. He didn’t go to the bathroom, didn’t need to. But he needed to get out. Get away, and distance himself from Rick.

As he passed Rick’s cell, he heard Judith stirring, and starting to cry. Daryl wanted more than anything to go in and hold her, and console her and himself at the same time. But he knew Rick would be there shortly, when he had recovered from Daryl’s abrupt departure.

So he exited the cell block. He really wanted a smoke, but he’d left them in his cell. He kicked himself for that. When he didn’t have anyone there for him in his distress, which was pretty much always, a cigarette often helped to calm his nerves, or it felt like it did, anyway. Placebo effect or whatever it was.

Though of course at the moment, his nerves weren’t hyped from the nightmare. It was from Rick. Rick holding him, rubbing his back in small calming circles. Rick nestling his head against Daryl’s after he’d nuzzled into the other man.

Fuck! He really needed to get a better hold of his urges and actions. He hadn’t been able to help it though. The man had been so close, holding him so tenderly that he’d lost himself and his head in the moment. Just for a second, but that was enough.

Rick was probably freaking out by the way Daryl had clutched at him, and held on like a crying baby.

 _Stop being such a pussy!_ He scolded himself. He needed to figure out whatever shit had triggered his nightmare and avoid it like the grasping fingers and snapping jaws of the undead constantly growling just outside the walls and fences of the prison. He didn’t need to be giving Rick any more reason to be disgusted by him.

Outside the cell block, he saw through the darkness a couple of people still preparing the meat he’d brought home, somewhat illuminated by a few solar lamps. He ducked around the corner into a secluded court yard, hoping he hadn’t been seen. As no one followed him, he thought he’d been successful.

The smell of cigarette smoke filled his nostrils and he just about groaned with longing. Bob was sitting, leaning against the wall of the cellblock, smoking and hiding something beside him. The clearing of a throat and the rustling of a paper bag informed him Bob had noticed him.

“Daryl.” Bob greeted him sheepishly.

“Can I bum a smoke?” Daryl grunted, not really finding he much cared what it was the guy was hiding.

“Oh – sure. They’re menthols though...?” Bob offered the crushed packet.

Daryl shrugged and took one out of the box, along with the plastic lighter – his Zippo was in his cell along with his own packet of _non_ menthols. He lit the smoke, drawing deeply, the icky freshness of menthol scorching his throat and lungs. He tossed the lighter onto Bob’s lap, and turned to walk away, when the other man spoke.

“You okay, man?” Bob sounded worried.

What the hell was with people worrying about him? Daryl was sure that Bob couldn’t see the expression on his face, but the way his voice had cracked was apparently a signal to even those who didn’t know him.

“’M fine!” Daryl hissed, and stalked off, instantly feeling guilty about snapping at the guy.

Bob was new, Daryl and Glenn had only brought him in a few days ago. The guy didn’t yet know much about the group or how Daryl didn’t like people asking about him. Bob would learn.

Was he fine though? Not really. He’d just had the most intimate moment in his life that he had had since he was a tiny child, when his mother had still loved him, and held him. That was years before she had died. And it had happened with Rick, the man he loved, and hated to love.

But Rick had nestled his head on Daryl’s, hadn’t he?

 _He was just comforting the man-child who had a bad dream,_ a cruel voice from the depths of his mind informed him, reminded him, as if he needed it. He knew Rick had just been comforting him, knew it with his guts and his head, but his heart, his stupid fucking heart told him otherwise, and it was eating him up inside.

It was hope. He didn’t need hope. He needed a damn lobotomy, he thought. He needed to stop being tortured by the images and fantasies that snuck into his mind when he least expected, when Rick was too close, or gave him too much of an intimate gaze, or when Rick smiled that way he did that lit up Daryl’s life more than the damn sun itself.

_Sometimes you shine so bright I must look away..._

Damn, apparently having a nightmare then a cuddle turned him into the corniest fucking sumbitch he’d ever heard of.

As his mind had wandered, so he had let his legs wander aimlessly, his feet taking him through the prison court yard and beyond. He found himself in the field, not having even remembered opening and closing the gates behind him. All of a sudden, he became aware of a dull pain in his feet, having wandered down the gravel path toward the outer gates without shoes.

He scolded himself for that, too. What would have happened had he not returned to the present until he was outside the fences, out with the walkers? Would he have come to, being gnawed on by one of the damn geeks that was wailing on the fence? It was night, but he didn’t know what time. There would be plenty of walkers outside, waiting to make a meal out of him.

        It was the burn at his fingers that made him realise the cigarette was done, and he dropped it with a hiss, shaking his hand unconsciously, like that was what was expected of him, some non-optional social convention that he had picked up from spending too much time with people. The dull red of the dying cherry burned in front of his feet, and he had the sudden almost uncontrollable urge to butt it out with the pad of his toe. He was mesmorised by the glow, shutting everything out around him: the groans of the walkers; the sounds of the forest not too far away; the snort of a boar outside the fences that he should really get his crossbow – and maybe some shoes and pants – and go hunt down.

        The light of the cherry began to fade, and Daryl was even to the point of balancing on one foot, the other raised and pointed only an inch from the glow. He didn’t know why he was doing it, didn’t have some plan to hurt himself. All he knew was that while he was focused on that tiny light on the ground, he wasn’t thinking about Rick, or his nightmare, or being kicked out or ostracised from the group, and that was nice.

 _“Daryl?”_ Carol’s voice cut through the quiet, and made Daryl jump.

His gaze flickered over to the woman, then down to the ground to see the cigarette cherry slowly dying a few inches safely away from his foot, then back up to her.

“ _What?_ ” he grunted in response. He couldn’t help but glare, feeling like he’d been intruded upon in some personal moment, whether monumental or miniscule, he hadn’t decided yet.

Only just visible through the dark, Carol wore an expression of concern, but it didn’t feel like pity, like it did from Bob. Perhaps it was that the woman knew him better. He didn’t quite know.

“What are you doin’ out here in your jammies, Pookie?” she asked kindly, her eyebrows raised incredulously. She was using that mother tone on him, and he didn’t like it.

“Jus’ needed to go fer a walk..” he mumbled, like it was perfectly normal for one to walk around the prison, only in pyjamas and barefootted, when one could easily cut themselves on random shrapnel, and even get tetanus and die probably, knowing their luck.

“Want some company?” Carol asked, reaching over to grasp his shoulder gently.

He only flinched a little.

Daryl didn’t think he wanted company, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone, either. It was hell, being in his head.

“Nah, prob’ly gonna go to bed...” He trailed off.

He wasn’t sure if he was actually going to go back to bed. Rick wasn’t likely still in Daryl’s cell anymore, and he didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse. The man was probably trying to settle Judith down to sleep.

With his gaze at his dirty, bare feet, he saw Carol nod slightly out of the corner of his eye. With a shrug, he started heading back up to the prison, and felt the woman’s presence by his side. She didn’t say anything, but Daryl could swear he saw her hand twitching by her side, as if she wanted to hold his.

He was glad she didn’t.

When they got back up to the court yard, it was empty. Everyone had obviously gone to bed – it was late, after all. That was good; he didn’t need any more of an audience than he already had. Carol’s company was silent and somewhat comforting, but it still irked him. He longed to be alone again, but he didn’t want to hurt Carol’s feelings by telling her to leave his side when she so obviously felt the need to be there.

Through to the cell block, where only most of the original Atlanta and Farm group slept, along with Sasha and Tyreese, it was quiet, peaceful. The people from Woodbury had their own cell block, not far.

The silence emanating from Rick’s cell indicated the man had settled Judith, and for that Daryl was glad. He hated that his nightmare had disrupted not only the cop, but Li’l Asskicker as well. He wanted to check in on her, but since her cot was in Rick’s cell tonight, he resisted the urge. He didn’t think he could face the guy just yet.

Before he could escape to his own cell, Carol pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around him. He was still as a statue within the embrace. He hadn’t flinched, perhaps because in some tiny corner of his mind, he had been expecting it.

When she seemed to realise he wasn’t going to reciprocate the hug, she broke away slowly. But then she reached up and brushed the hair away from his face, and pulled his head down to kiss him on the forehead.

“Goodnight, Pookie.” She said softly, and turned off to her own cell.

He just sort of stood and gawked after her for a moment. He was never quite sure how to react to such tenderness, friendly and awkward as it was. Carol was a big one for contact, ever since that time he’d given her a tiny shoulder massage the first night they’d stayed at the prison. She’d even felt brash enough to make dirty jokes at him, to which he’d replied with a desperate ‘ _stop...’_

Thankfully, her actions had remained fairly platonic after that.

As he finally got to his cell and found it empty, he wondered how he’d feel if Rick had been there waiting for him. He probably would have turned and walked right back out, if he was honest with himself.

He just couldn’t deal with it tonight. Not after the playful teasing at the washup station, the awkward solo shower moment, then the nightmare and Rick’s tenderness in calming him. Even worse, perhaps, was the fact that the man had apparently lit up the cell with a tiny solar lamp, for Daryl when he got back. Damn, could Rick possibly _be_ any more thoughtful? Apparently the answer to that was yes.

Thoughts of Rick were ruining him, driving him into an internal spiral of depression and longing, mixed with the most awful and inconvenient tug of lust on some occasions. He could feel himself slipping, or was it pushing? Pushing Rick away with his feelings and his actions when he couldn’t restrain himself.

They were simple gestures: the linger of his hand on the man’s belly in goodbye before going on a run; the subtle touch of their knees when he could summon the courage when they sat next to each other at the dining table, which was almost always, though the courage was rarely summoned easily, despite the fact that the action was often brushed off as an accident.

He curled into himself on the cot, bringing the blanket up to cover his shivering form, shivering from the cold outside that had seemed to delve into his very bones, and from the contact he’d had for what seemed like forever, but also seemed like forever ago.

He pondered for a moment what life would be like if it was Carol instead, whom he longed for. She was smart, strong – much stronger than when they first met. A provider. She was also kind and tender with her words and her gestures, easy to give Daryl his space when he needed it – most of the time, and there for him when he needed contact, even if it was just the brush over the shoulder, though that need came very rarely.

He thought of the way she’d joked with him that one night, suggesting something more in the disguise of platonic lewd innuendo. He thought she had liked him, whether or not she still did, but he couldn’t help but wonder.

Life would probably be easier, if he liked her back. It would be simple, the simplest thing in the world, to lean into one of her soft, kind touches on his cheek, maybe even brush his lips across her palm, telling her it was okay, and ‘ _yes_ ’.

She was a good woman, and deserved better than the hand she’d been dealt in life, the abusive husband long gone, the timid child also gone. Daryl had tried like hell to find Sophia, he really had. Hours and days spent in the woods looking for a little girl on whom most seemed to have given up as dead and gone, or worse – turned and coming back.

He wondered just how different life would have been had he found the little girl, brought her back safe to her mother. Carol might have hugged him and maybe even kissed him, and he might have even kissed her back and they could have slipped into something easy and comfortable. It wouldn’t be passionate, but it would be something. Nice.

Though, as he thought about it, he wasn’t sure Carol would have grown into the strong, independent woman she was, if she had turned to leaning on Daryl instead of herself.

But it didn’t matter, Daryl thought, as he reached under his pillow for his precious polaroid. It wasn’t Carol who made his heart thump eratically from simply proximity. It wasn’t Carol who made him question his sexuality. Was he gay? Was he bisexual or whatever the hell it was them damn hippies called it, as Merle would say? He thought he might be just Ricksexual... If he hadn't been so distressed by all of his thoughts, that one might have made him laugh out loud.

When his fingers brushed across lumpy matress and no picture, he instantly started freaking out. Pulling himself up onto his knees, he lifted the pillow, and didn’t see the picture. He crawled off the bed and ripped the blanket off, but still, no picture.

Heart thumping in his chest, he thought that he must have pushed it out from under his pillow in his twisting and writhing from his nightmare. Maybe it fell off the bed and onto the floor, maybe – and his heart clenched very still in his chest as he considered it – maybe Rick had found it.

Rick would know, surely. Daryl had had it under his pillow. Rick would know that the hunter treasured it, more than someone would treasure a picture of themself with a friend. Rick might be pacing his cell right now, disgusted and glaring at the picture and all that it and its position signified.

Daryl’s eyes itched as he felt the tears trying to break free, from anger, from stress, from heartbreak. He never knew how to react, and half the time neither did his body. Sometimes he would break down. Sometimes he would throw the nearest object hard at a wall and hope that the broken pieces of whatever it was was a good enough substitute for his sanity.

As it was, it was his pillow still clenched in his hand that got tossed at the wall against which sat his cot. It didn’t smash into tiny pieces, of course – it was a damn pillow. But it did suddenly reveal its secrets.

Daryl just about shouted with relief, only just reining in that urge, when he saw the picture slide from out of the pillow case. He must have pushed it in there in his tossing and turning in agony, he thought, as he leapt over, back onto the bed and snatched up the supposedly harmless glossy card.

His heart slowed in his chest, as did his breathing, as he gazed at the picture. He knew he shouldn’t – he should have tossed the damn thing out after that fucking shower incident. But he couldn’t bring himself to part with it.

It was his own private slice of heaven. He didn’t know if it helped or not, looking at his and Rick’s smiling faces, when it came to trying to make his feelings fade and black out. All he knew was that he didn’t think he could live without that horrid little picture. Whenever he had a bad case of longing, or the unbidden urge to reach out and touch Rick, like he’d had the day it had been taken – had it really only been two days ago?? – perhaps just looking at that stupid picture could sate his needs.

He fumbled one-handed and absentmindedly to pull his blanket back onto his cot, as he couldn’t put he picture down. Not just yet. He needed a moment. The pillow that had been not only his curse but his saving grace – because really, what would have happened if the picture hadn’t slid into the pillow case, and had in fact landed on the floor? – was pushed haphazardly against the end of his cot.

Lying down on the pillow, the blanket pulled up over his shivering form, he wondered if he’d actually got himself a damn cold, wandering out in the cool air in only his singlet and sweats. He’d be pissed if he had. But for now, he tried to push aside that thought, and concentrate on the picture in his hand, at which he was gazing as if it were his first born. Hell, it was his second most treasured physical possession, after his crossbow, and if the weapon didn’t provide his family with food and security, it would lose the damn battle in a heartbeat. The bike that had been Merle’s was sitting at a comfortable third.

The solar lamp Rick had left on for him would last probably another hour or two, its dim but very fake light casting a pearlescent glow across the photo. Daryl’s legs were curled up under him, the arm holding the photo outstretched and leaning against the wall to elevate it, so the light could touch it and he could see it.

His thoughts glossed back to the fateful day, him and Rick hanging out talking about a damn play the kids were going to put on. He wondered if that was still a go ahead. It could be something nice, to put the atmosphere within the prison at ease, bring some joy, if only for a day. Something to break up the monotonous life of chores and survival.

He thought of Carl and Rick performing some lines, just like Rick had reminisced, and Daryl watching from the audience. He’d never seen a play before, didn’t know what to picture. All he could see was Rick in some big hat, pretending like he was someone else. He didn’t know why the play the kids were putting on suddenly included Rick in his musings, but it was a fun thought nonetheless, and almost harmless.

It was with a mind full of Rick’s voice, and Rick’s beard, and Daryl’s fingers running through it, that Daryl started to drift off. Then came the feeling of Rick touching his shoulder gently, trying to console him, tried to forget that he’d punched the man in response as the memories came flooding back, clear as day.

Then the feeling of Rick pressed against him was full in his mind and on his very skin, strong hands rubbing calming circles over his back, and a cheek resting ever so gently against his.

And with that, Daryl fell into a deep sleep. The physical exertion of the last two days of his hunting, and the emotional exertion of his evening had taken a lot out of him.

That time, thankfully, he didn’t dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this might be an interesting thang, to have Daryl considering - even unconsciously - minor self harm to distract him, and distance himself from his feelings of loss, albeit prematurely.  
>  **[[SPOILER]]** We do see later in season 5 that he does it, **[[/SPOILER]]** so I used the opportunity to develop that headcanon here.  
>  Also I borrowed a lovely line from my fave anime, Hunter X Hunter, by Yoshihiro Togashi. "You are light. Sometimes you shine so bright I must look away." I think it's perfect for this dynamic and fic.


	5. Infected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl wakes up feeling like shit. Muses on some bad memories. Then shit goes down in D block.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to align this a bit with Season 4, as kind of indicated by Bob in the last chapter. It's going to be somewhat canon-divergent to stick with my plot, but there are a few memorable moments from 4.02, "Infected" same as the chapter title.
> 
> Also sorry for not updating this for so long! T^T Have a lengthy chapter to make up for it! -gives lengthy chapter-
> 
> Also I'd like to thank Masa of [Reedusgif](http://reedusgif.tumblr.com) on tumblr and [Msbt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/msbt) on here for her encouragement of my writing even calling me 'talented' that really helped me muse on the rest of this chapter! Thanks, dear! <3 -whispers- and go check out her fanart because OMG! Amazing!

It ended up that Daryl had in fact caught himself a cold. And it did indeed piss him off. He woke in the morning feeling groggy and stuffed up, and he hated it. Still, he pushed himself up on the cot, and as his head spun he had to rest it in his hands for a moment, elbows on his knees.

 _Stop being such a pussy!_ He told himself for the second time in less than 24 hours, and he wondered when he had in fact turned into one.

He had only been sick twice since the world turned to shit.

Once was over the long winter he’d spent with the group, but he’d hidden it well enough, he thought. He’d kept well enough away from everyone during his illness, knowing it would spread like wildfire given half the chance. He’d known it could possibly kill Lori’s baby, and maybe even Lori herself, as the woman’s immune system would’ve been as weak as her knobbly elbows.

So he’d suffered in silence, not daring to use up any of their scarily small supply of medicine, even with the last of Merle’s stash. He didn’t want two pills he’d taken in a moment of weakness and selfishness end up being the difference between life and death for one of the others.

He’d often say he was going for a hunt and disappear, taking his sniffles and coughs with him into the forest. He would return to the group feeling bad when he could only manage to bring back one or two small kills, given his weakened state.

If anybody had noticed he’d been sick, they hadn’t acknowledged it. He didn’t know if that thought made him feel any better or worse.

The other time, it had been _much_ worse. It was when it had just been him and Merle, before they’d stumbled upon the others. Daryl had been knocked off his feet, feeling as though his head might just about explode from the pressure. Merle had taken as much pity on him as he’d ever expected, shoving him down to rest and going out on hunts while he lay shivering from flashes of chills and fever. No one got flu shots when there weren’t no doctors around, not like the brothers Dixon had ever had one before the turn anyway. Merle had preferred a different type of needle, and Daryl wasn’t a fan of any at all.

 _Ain’t no one gonna love you or take care of you ‘cept me, baby brother..._ His brother’s words echoed through his hazy mind.

_I know. Fuck off._

He rubbed his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes so hard he saw stars. And then it hurt, the pressure spiking through his sinuses behind his eyes. He dropped his hands, hanging between his knees, elbows resting on his thighs.

 _It was right here_ , he thought. _Right where I'm sitting now, that he held me_...

He could almost feel Rick's arms around him, holding him, rubbing his back and soothing him with soft calm words of false promises that tickled the back of his neck as the hairs stood up.

 _Fuck!_ He needed to get these damn thoughts out of his head.

Not quite decided what he was going to do with himself just yet, he stood up and got dressed, trying not to reach under his pillow for that damn glossy picture. His and Rick's faces were fairly well plastered on the inside of his eyelids anyway.

When he exited his cell, there were a few people milling about, organising breakfast. Judith appeared to be already sorted, and Daryl lamented that it would be bad to be near her. He didn't want to give her whatever it was that he had caught.

Breakfast was a scattered and informal affair. Daryl sat at the metal table with his bowl of porridge, spooning the sorry lumps into his mouth as he glanced at the others milling about. He'd watched Michonne scarf down her bowl and head out, ready to go on a run.

She'd been gone about a minute when Glenn came in, clutching something in his hand, and gazing at it with the same expression Daryl thought he must have, looking down at his photo of him and Rick. When he saw that it was in fact a polaroid, Daryl felt a split second of fear and anxiety, thinking that Glenn had his photo.

But when Glenn glanced up and saw Daryl looking at him with an unreadable expression, fear masked behind indifference, the Korean chuckled and showed him the picture.

“Got one of Maggie this morning.” Glenn smiled as Daryl observed the photo of the brunette sleeping peacefully.

“Tha's kinda creepy, Glenn. Gettin' her all sleepin'...” Daryl commented, and Glenn's expression fell until he saw that Daryl was smirking at him.

The Korean's eyes narrowed and he shoved Daryl on the shoulder, pushing him halfway off the stool. But the boy was smirking right back at him, so he knew it was all in play.

“Oi man! I'm eatin' 'ere! Want my slop on yer face? Get outta it!” Daryl shoved Glenn back, and all seemed to be right in the world.

“Hey Daryl, I was wondering-” Glenn began, taking a seat properly on the bench, but one spot away, perhaps in case Daryl decided he wanted to shove the boy more forcefully.

“I was thinking of finding a scrap book or something on the next run, and we can put our pictures in there for a family album or something. That one of you and Rick was great, what do you think about putting it in there, too, if we can find one?”

Daryl froze, choking on his porridge for a moment so that Glenn had to smack him on the back to get him out of it. When his airway was suitably porridge-free, he forced a gruff laugh to explain the choking as he looked incredulously at the younger.

“Tha's real fuckin' _sentimental_ of ya, Glenn.” As he watched Glenn's face fall, he quickly added. “I mean – it sounds kinda cool. Never had me a family album 'fore. Pity I uh.. I lost the picture of Rick and me...” he trailed off miserably, imagining such a scenario, and failing because it was too horrid.

Actually, he was more worried about people seeing how creased the photo was after only three days, obvious evidence that he had been clutching at it and holding it more tightly than his crossbow. He also didn't want to share it with anyone, didn't want to have to see if anyone else had the damn album to know whether or not he could gaze at it, and run his fingers over the image of Rick's beard. After all, if he spent more time with the album than anyone else, surely someone would figure out what was up.

“Oh.” Glenn's sad frown was infectious. “No worries then. Maybe I'll take another one later, if that's cool?”

“Maybe..” Daryl grunted with a shrug as he got up from the table, taking his empty bowl to the wash up bucket, effectively ending the conversation.

Truly though, he couldn't imagine what could be more amazing, than having more than one photo of him and Rick. Other than having Rick, of course, but as that was so impossible he might as well have been hoping to bring Merle and Lori back to life, he quashed that train of thought where it was.

Then he thought of those family portraits, all 'happy' and smiling in a forced way because they were on the clock, and he thought of Li'l Asskicker. He thought of having a picture of him and the precious baby, and that was possibly the most pure, joyous thought he'd ever had and he kind of felt like a sap, but he wanted it.

He wanted a picture of them, weak evidence as it was, of his relationship with the child he'd helped to raise from the get-go, slipping into the role of guardian, or godfather, or whatever one might call it. All because poor Rick had been so busy, so distant with his own thoughts and spiraling down into madness that he couldn't look upon his baby without getting that crazed look in his eye that Daryl assumed he thought no one saw. But Daryl had seen it. Been scared shitless of it, too.

And then as if summoned by Daryl's very thoughts, Judith started to cry, from within Rick's cell. Daryl busied himself with organising the dishes, so no one questioned why he didn't lope off and scoop up the squalling baby, but Beth was quick enough to do it that he hardly needed to bother. He wanted to, but he could almost feel the itch of the beginning of a cough reach up his throat, and he couldn't risk being near Judith.

As Beth came out carrying the nearly soothed baby, and Daryl turned to give the girls a lopsided, corny grin, it happened.

One.

Two.

Two gunshots resounded, echoing throughout the entire prison, and Daryl placed the sound as coming from the other cell block. His blood ran cold, but he didn't hesitate. No one did.

Lightning fast, Daryl raced back to his cell and grabbed his crossbow and hunting knife, throwing his quiver over his shoulder as he raced through the block. He thanked his lucky stars he'd had the forethought to put on his boots before breakfast.

Sasha was in action at the other end of the kitchen area, securing the door to the tombs. Daryl pressed a gun into Hershel's hands, and growled at the old man to watch Beth and Judith, and he and the other fighters raced toward the door.

As they neared the exit of the cell block, they heard the fearful screams of help from Lizzie and Mika, as the girls burst from D block

More shots sounded, and adrenaline pumped through Daryl's body, fueling him, pushing him to run faster. Glenn was up ahead with Mika, Carol hot on his heels as they shouted to Rick who had just left the field, running to the rescue.

“Walkers in D!” Glenn yelled as he turned with Carol toward D block.

“What about C?!” Rick shouted as Sasha, Daryl and Tyreese nearly collided with him.

“Clear! We left the gates to the tombs. Hershel's on guard.” Sasha answered him.

“It ain't a breech!” Daryl growled, crossbow swinging from his hand as he ran.

“We follow the plan!” Sasha insisted, and Daryl was already rushing through the door and into cell block D.

“Daryl!” Rick was closer than he thought, right behind him as he took the shotgun out of the inexperienced hands of an innocent bystander and threw it to the man.

He rushed through the throngs of escaping people, grabbing a child and hauling him off to safety, just out of the grasping hands of a fresh walker that had been a friend only the day before. As he carried the boy in one arm, he raised his crossbow and shot a bolt right through the walker's eye, so fucking glad that he'd loaded it on the way in.

“Here-” he handed the boy off to a woman nearby that he was sure he knew, but right now it didn't matter. He drew his knife and dispatched another of the growling bastards as Carol rushed past him, handing another child to some people and locking them in a cell for safety.

“Check all of them! Every cell!” Rick's commanding voice echoed through the screams and the growls, and Daryl was glad that the man had managed to bring back his leadership when it was needed the most.

He saw Carol rush off another injured man, arm bloody and limp, into a cell, as he checked the cells at the end, ensuring they were empty of the threat.

“Are we clear down here?!” Rick yelled, and Sasha answered him, confirming that the lower level of the cell block had been emptied.

Daryl loped up the stairs, reloading his crossbow and preparing for the worst.

It was mostly quiet upstairs, as he stalked across the walkway, the odd corpse still on the ground. He felt more than heard Rick's presence behind him as he inspected one of the far cells.

A sudden growl, and Daryl spun around to find Glenn fighting off a walker that had emerged from one of the cells.

“Down!” he shouted as he took aim.

Glenn wrestled with the walker for a second, before Daryl's bolt shot through its temple and it fell through the curtain of the close by cell, then Glenn slumped to the ground from the effort.

Daryl hurried over, but Rick got to him first and helped him up.

“Thanks..” Glenn breathed, running a hand through his obsidian hair, matted to his forehead with sweat.

Rick was already moving on, pushing aside the curtain of the next cell when Daryl and Glenn joined him to inspect the walker.

“Aw.. That's Patrick..” Daryl groaned as Rick crouched down to get a closer view.

And it was, the young boy, turned walker and now corpse, laying with a bolt sticking out of the side his head, eyes glazed over and milky and stuck open, and blood and bits of gore smeared over his mouth.

Rick straightened up, and Daryl leaned over the metal railing, sweeping his gaze over the cell block for any other threats, thankfully not finding any.

“Tha's all of 'em..” Daryl confirmed, taking in the grisly scene of bodies strewn across the living quarters below, that none of them were getting back up with jaws snapping and fingers grasping.

Rick sighed heavily through his nose, and it took everything in Daryl not to reach out and pull him close.

The pair of them proceeded to inspect the rest of the cells, making sure there were no late risers among the bodies. It was like they were a well oiled machine, working in a unison that felt true and right again, despite the circumstances.

As Rick pulled aside the curtain of another cell, Daryl aimed his crossbow inside, just in case. But they were met with just another corpse, neck bloody and torn out, and eyes glazed over, but not yet milky.

Daryl heaved a sigh, and felt Rick's eyes on him. Without a word, he stepped forward to do what was necessary.

He looked down at the woman's corpse, arm bent out at an odd angle and a pool of blood matting her blonde hair. Her head twitched as his bolt slid through her temple, easy as a knife through butter.

It never got any easier.

Rick left to look through the other cells as Daryl retrieved his bolt from the woman's skull. As he stepped through the curtain, Rick met his gaze for just a second, before returning it to the cell he had been looking in.

As Daryl watched, Rick swept open the curtain, breaths loud from his throat, then looked up at Daryl once more. Daryl met his gaze, and held it as he nodded to the man. The nod was returned, and he watched Rick unsheath his knife.

He seemed to consider it for a moment, as if wondering why it was always brought back to this, and it made Daryl's heart ache. Rick had been trying to take a break, trying to distance himself from the grisly nature of their existence, and Daryl thought – no, knew – that he had earned it. But it never stopped happening, never stopped drawing them back in, making them do the things they didn't want to do.

Rick stepped through into the cell, and Daryl dropped his crossbow to reload it with a grunt. After he straightened, Rick came back out, and what Daryl saw worried him more than ever.

Rick had that look back in his eyes, unfocused and blank, confused at the world as his hand shook around the bloody blade. But he met Daryl's gaze once more, acknowledging with a tiny nod of his head, and they moved on.

At the end of the block, they found another walker in a locked cell, quietly growling as Rick approached. Daryl stood back, hovering in case he was needed, and he watched the farmer pull the walker closer to the bars, before driving his blade into its skull.

Rick seemed to sway slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he looked down at the corpse, breathing heavily and blade hanging slack by his side.

Daryl stepped over to Rick's side, standing so close that his bare arm brushed lightly against Rick's, inspecting the scene. His nerves were buzzing under his skin where he stood. Despite the gore of the scene in front of them, and perhaps to spite the adrenaline pumping through his veins. All from being so close to Rick. But Daryl didn't need to explain why he was hanging so close. Not right now. It was just what they did.

The cell the walker was in was closed – that was why Rick took it out through the bars. So how the hell did it turn?

After a moment, Glenn rejoined them, and the moment – and the contact – was gone. Not like it was a moment shared with Rick, really. But it was a moment for Daryl. Hovering close, making sure Rick didn't fall to his knees from more losses.

He muttered to Glenn to go fetch the Doc, and the Korean complied, as Daryl remained steadfast next to Rick, as his anchor. They didn't touch again, but Daryl stayed close.

A few minutes later they were rejoined by Glenn, accompanied by Hershel and the Doc, the latter stepping into the now opened cell to inspect the corpse. Rick was already crouched down beside it.

“No bites... No wounds..” Rick informed Doctor. S, a desperate air of willing to understand coating his cracked voice.

Daryl was hovering back, crossbow at the ready just in case, though he doubted he would need it again. It was more he didn't know what to do with his body. All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around Rick, so he kept a firm grasp on his weapon so he wasn't as easily tempted.

“I think he just died...” Rick finished, his voice dropping off at the end to a hopeless, gravelly tone.

“Horribly, too.” The Doc confirmed, and he went on to describe the 'person's' symptoms.

Hershel elaborated in explaining that the guy had choked to death on his own blood.

 _What a fucking way to go..._ Daryl thought, squinting at the bloody mess of a body, and almost sparing a moment to pray he'd never go out so pathetically, so embarrassingly. He'd rather be either taken out in a blaze of glory and kicks and screams and curses, or silent except for the gunshot to his head, preferably with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and Rick nowhere near to witness it.

Returning to the conversation, they mused on the visible symptoms, mainly the bloody trails down the walker's face. Rick had seen them on a walker outside the walls. Daryl added in that they were the same as those down Patrick's face.

 _Patrick..._ The kid currently lying turned and dead in a cell just down the way had only just yesterday been helping Daryl with his kill. Or well, trying to help. God, how the kid had gone from being up and about and smiling to eating his neighbours in one night, it killed Daryl.

Then the doctor was explaining about pressure in the lungs, popping like a can of soda, only out the eyes, ears, nose and throat. Bob confirmed what they were all thinking, that it was a sickness. Then Doc went on and started talking about diseases and viruses and things that mattered in the old world, and why the fuck did they have to worry about flues when they had to worry about the undead eating, or worse, turning them, as well?

Life just wasn't fair.

And then the words Daryl just didn't want or need to hear. _'We've all been exposed...'_

He just hoped to hell his sniffles stayed as they were. Even as he thought that, he felt the tickling start in the back of his nose and throat.

Ducking his head, he snuck out of the cell, and out of the cell block proper. On his way out, he saw Jane, one of the old Woodbury residents, bundling up her boy in a sheet and taking him outside. His heart ached for the loss of the child, but there was nothing he could do. He didn't know her enough to offer any real words of solace, but when she looked up at him, he nodded once, conveying his sorrow for her. She didn't respond, except to allow her shoulders to sag, and prepare to carry her boy outside, and Daryl turned to beat her outside.

Before he escape however, he was cornered by Carol, who informed him of a council meeting in a few minutes. He agreed to meet them in the office building shortly, and headed out to the court yard.

Thankful he had his cigarettes in his pocket this time, he pulled one out and lit it up with his Zippo. Crossbow leaning against the wall beside him, he slid down and sat against it, knees high, propping up his elbows as he drew long and deep on his smoke.

Thankfully it was that moment that his lungs chose to attempt to cough up the phlegm that had started to well in his throat, and he was able to mask it as a smoker's cough. That was when he noticed that Carl, Michonne and Maggie were coming up from the field, Carl and Maggie supporting Michonne who was limping slightly. No one seemed immediately panicked, so he assumed that she had simply injured herself on the way back.

From where he sat, he watched Carl leave the girls and run out of view, heard Rick's voice warning Carl away, and then the 'oomph' that indicated the boy had crashed into him and hugged him. Then Carl was apologising for using a gun, and by the sound of it, he'd done it to save Michonne's life.

The pain in Rick's voice.. It made Daryl's heart clench.

Then came Maggie's voice, asking what happened, and silence. Then Daryl saw Jane carrying her bundle out to the field. He made to go after her, maybe to help her bury the bundle, as he heard Rick explaining about Patrick.

He was still out of sight of Rick, dusting himself off and butting out his cigarette carefully with another low cough, to go after Jane, when Carol found him. He wondered if she'd followed the smell of his smoke, or whether she just knew that was where he liked to go to get away.

Regardless, he nodded his acknowledgement of the meeting, grabbed his crossbow and looped the strap over his shoulder, and followed her toward the office building. She slowed until he was level with her, walking silently by his side.

“Ryan..” She finally muttered, her steely gaze ahead, and Daryl understood who the man with the bloody arm was. Lizzie and Mika's father.

“Did ya-” he began to ask, not really needing to, because she was nodding resolutely. “O'course. Did what ya needed to do.”

Carol's lips tightened, with another small nod of her head. She seemed upset, but not on the verge of tears or anything.

It was then that Daryl marveled once again at just how much Carol had grown from that timid, beaten woman that he met so long ago. She was now a pillar for the group, an anchor, though of course not the one he needed most.

The thought passed through his mind once more, of being with Carol. And he wondered for a moment whether she'd totally given up on him yet. If not, he could just reach out and take her hand. That would be all it would take to convey the message, and it would be up to her, whether or not she would curl her fingers around his, rub her thumb over his knuckle, or over the webbing between his forefinger and thumb, depending on how she joined with him.

But then, just as his fingers twitched, flexed, almost ready to test the distance between them, his mind supplied him with a flash of his teamwork with Rick a moment ago. The subtle movements and nods that allowed them to communicate silently as if they were on a different wavelength altogether, separated from everyone else.

And that was all it took. Daryl shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants, and he walked silently with her to the meeting, trying to ignore the thudding pressure building up in his sinuses, and the possible implications of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of sad coming up with the headcanons of Daryl's previous ilnesses. But I think it fits Daryl's character, to have done what he did over the Winter! Keeping out of everyone's hair, and worrying about their collective wellbeing before his own. Our poor, selfless baby! ;A;

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will likely change later. Any headcanons and prompts people have are great and might make it into the fic! Comments and Kudos give me life~


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